Playing the Right Cards
by MissGracieKathy
Summary: Pre- Thomas/OC, because Thomas needs someone to love. Set Post-Series3 but Pre-Christmas Episode. OneShot
1. Chapter 1

**Pre- OC/Thomas, because Thomas needs someone to love.**

**This popped into my head quite by chance before watching Sunday's episode [wasn't it fab?], then after the episode I made a few adjustments [not many].**

**I was just thinking of how Downton doesn't have a prominent chauffer anymore, so voila.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Downton Abbey, If I did I would have given Thomas **_**some**_** happiness a long time ago. I do, however, own Seb and a goldfish. Flames will be fed to the *cough* Miss O'Brien *cough* Dragons.**

**Enjoy**

Seb exited the garage and made his way through the yard, into the hallway and down to the servant's hall, hoping against hope to catch up a copy of today's paper before it was used for the kitchen fire. As he stepped over the threshold to the servant's hall, he saw that the solidarity he craved, always craved, and indeed expected at this time of the day, was not achievable.

Mr Barrow sat in his usual chair but his countenance bore an expression which was far from his usual confident smirk. Not that Seb had encountered the enigmatic under butler much, as the chauffeur, he preferred to keep to himself, so as to make it easier when he, inevitably, left.

It was an expression he recognized well, having worn it enough in the past before perfecting his poker face. It was the face of fear, loneliness and bitter sadness. It was the expression of an outcast. Seb, leaning there, in the doorway, looked at Mr Barrow with an air of scrutiny, his brow furrowed. His search for today's paper was momentarily forgotten. He had a hunch as to why Mr Barrow looked the way he did, but if he was wrong he could end up with a broken nose. Though if Mrs Patmore's snide comments were anything to go by, not to mention the rumors… He stood up straight, flattened his Brilliantined hair, and stepped into the room.

"Ooh, I know that face." he stepped closer to the under butler, biting his lip and ghosting his right hand over the back of his chair.

"I doubt it." The cock-sure man reappeared in that very moment, "What do you want, Summers?"

Mr Barrow's head turned towards the chauffer and his voice had regained that harsh edge. It was at complete odds with the venerability in his eyes, which seemed to scream melancholia.

"I want to know if I'm right about you."  
He paused, wondering if he was pushing it;

"And you're wrong to doubt," he slowly, cautiously, slid into the adjacent chair. Flicking his eyes up to his fellow servant, he pulled a pack of playing cards out of his inside waistcoat pocket. "I often feel the same."

He started to shuffle the cards, focusing his eyes on them, whilst Mr Barrow looked on in interest, his cigarette forgotten.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean." His voice was laced with smooth innocence, like he was fooling anyone.

"You know exactly what I mean." Seb kept his green eyes on the cards, dealing them into two piles. He made sure his breathing was steady before he laid down his ace. Glancing around he looked to see if they were alone. The servant's hall was empty but he still felt a need for caution, you never knew who might be listening, and the young, blonde, chauffer didn't like the look of that ladies maid, O'Brien, at all.

Leaning over, so him and Mr Barrow were close enough so as not to be overheard, he whispered, in the other mans ear:

"You bat for the other team." Mr Barrow started to rise, his face a mask, but Seb caught hold of his wrist and, with a placating voice and a small smile, continued: "Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything."

Mr Barrow's brow furrowed, and then it seemed to ease. He retook his seat next to the chauffer. "I thought by now my luck would have run out." Seb raised a questioning eyebrow, "No one here has reported me, most of them know, of course, what with…" Mr Barrow broke off, lighting another cigarette.

"Jimmy?" Seb finished for him, as he also finished dealing the two stacks of cards. "I know what it's like, not to trust. You're perfectly right not to trust me, though it would be hypocritical of me to shop you." At Mr Barrow's enquiring eyebrow, he prepared himself to elaborate, he could tell he had piqued the under butlers curiosity.

Having finished dealing out the cards he drew his own cigarette case from his pocket accompanied with a lighter. Lighting up, he leaned in conspiratorially, even accompanying the entire look with the mandatory eyebrow play, as seen on villains at the cinematograph. Needless to say Mr Barrow was not wholly amused, though his thin mouth did express an abridged version of his smirk.

"I am somewhat of a liberal, and to amend my previous statement, we both, I think bat for the 'other team'. And I'm not talking about cricket, though I have been reliably informed that you're a good player, I don't play myself."

"You're not wrong." Seb smirked, taking a drag and exhaling a smoke ring.

"So was I right? About you? I generally am, by the way, right, I mean." Mr Barrow paused, seeming to consider, before nodding. Sucking his cheeks in and biting his lip he choked out:

"They don't understand, they treat me like I'm diseased. And what if, what if they, Jimmy or Alfred. Or even O'Brien kick up a fuss again, what can I do..?" He took deep breaths and Seb, sympathetically, lit him one of his own cigarettes and pressed it into his fingers with a firm pat on the arm.

"You know full well their hands are tied, one word from O'Brien and her great secret, whatever it is, is out. At least they don't seem to care that much." Seb paused in his smoking, and looking at the clock, he sighed, there would be no time for cards, he was due to pick Lady Mary up from the station.

Gathering up the two neat piles he had create, his own air changed to one of melancholy; "My family disowned me and the rest of the neighborhood all hate me, they seemed to think it was catching."

He could see Mr Barrow opening his mouth to contradict but Seb cut him off with a sad smile and bitter words; "No, It's true, they hated me, the rest of the inmates in prison hated me." He paused, breathing deeply. "I have the scars to prove it."

Standing suddenly, effectively cutting off any reply the under butler had, he tucked his cards, case and lighter back into his pocket, stubbed his cigarette out and, with a nod, he walked towards the door. Mr Barrow, all set to say something, anything, to the only chance of a friend here, rose, clearly fighting with words that would not come.

Thankfully, Seb, turning with a sigh, seemed to get the gist of what Mr Barrow was saying, and, extending his hand, reached out for a handshake. A handshake which could mean anything and nothing at the same time.

"Until the next time, Mr Barrow." Seb grasped Mr Barrow's right hand in both of his own, "and let's hope, next time, you'll be more articulate." The emotions, of two men who had long since spurned touch, seemed to run high at this simple gesture.

"You should have gone into politics, with words like that." Mr Barrow gave a small, genuine, smile; "and between you and me, it's Thomas"

"Seb or Sebastian, and disowned, remember?" He said this with a casual air but Thomas could tell it hurt Seb within. And you know the saying; it takes one to know one.

Seb was the one who pulled away from the handshake, or hand grasp, first, and repeating his previous gesture, the nod, stepped back towards the door. It was almost as an afterthought when he spoke, at the door, turning his head towards his new… friend? Comrade?

"If you ever feel like playing cards or…" he made a risqué tilt of the head before continuing: "I'll be in the garage, no smoking, too much petrol." Then he walked out, leaving a very different Thomas to the one he'd walked in on.

Thomas had never had a high opinion of chauffer's, much less since Mr Branson had shown up, but attitudes change and perhaps 'playing cards' wasn't such a bad idea, after all

**Voila [again]**

**I was so happy, last Sunday, when I guessed about the soap **

**Am sad that the series is over though, but we do have the Christmas Special to look forward too **

**Reviews are like gold dust *hint*hint***

**MissGracieKathy**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry this is late! Thank you so much to my kind reviewer, and all of you who favorited it or put it on alert, it meant a lot to me.**

**And thank you to my sister who should have smoothed out all the spelling and grammar issues in the last chapter- any remaining are intentional. If there are any in this chapter I'll set her on the case again (I love my sister!)**

**Warning: mentions of homophobia and contemplated suicide.**

**So here is the next chapter:**

**Enjoy**

This was the third time they had played cards, Seb noted. They didn't _do_ anything else, though Seb could tell it was a possibility between them. If it had simply been the chance of a casual affair, Seb had no doubt that it would have started two weeks ago, when Seb had made his first offer of 'cards'. What he really needed, what they both needed, was a friend. Someone to confide in, perhaps even someone to love. They mainly sat in companionable silence, only talking when necessary. Beneath all his bitterness and false grandeur, Thomas was a broken, insecure man. Thomas's mean streak was just a mask to establish some sort of power and distance against people who could potentially hurt him. O'Brien, Seb could see, had exploited this to the full, Thomas had lapped up the first chance of friendship, from a seemingly kindred spirit, and had only ended friendless and corrupted. Seb hoped this would change. He hoped this new alliance would benefit the both of them. Although Seb hadn't been corrupted as Thomas had, he had been sufficiently damaged to reject human company- though unlike Thomas he did this quietly and politely enough to make the least amour of impression on people. He was terrified of human nature and what it could do. He had lived in his own head so long that ordinary people alienated him. On the outside he did not really live, but exist. He had been told, once, when looked in the eye, that there was no life in them. That he looked dead inside. His confidence when talking to Thomas that time 2 weeks ago had been as false as his smiles around the rest of the staff. It left him shattered. He longed for it to be real.

"3 kings" Seb muttered, placing down 2 kings and a jack. 'Cheat was by far the best game for the two of them to play as it enabled them to perfect poker faces. And because poker wasn't as fun with two.

"2 kings" Thomas responded in kind, though he looked nervous. Seb couldn't help but feel a clenching in the pit of his stomach at that one look. It was uncharacteristic of the under butler.

"2 aces"

"3 aces"

"cheat" Seb called, looking up at Thomas from under his eyelashes, as he checked the last few cards. 2 jacks and 3 10's. He wondered what was bothering his friend, he had never let his mask slip in a game before. As Thomas collected the stack of cards in front of them, and added them to his own hand, Seb played his ace, both metaphorically and literally.

"What's bothering you?" Seb enquiries, as the ace of spades stared up at them from the centre of Seb's workman's bench.

"Nothing" Thomas was still sorting his cards.

"I bother you, is that it?" Seb was defaulted to think that people hated him, it no longer hurt as it should.

Thomas was battling inwardly with himself, Seb could see. It made his skin crawl.

Seb sat in silence, watching his friend rage war with himself. Whatever was bothering the taller man would come to light in due time. He laid down his hand and let the man in front of him become a subject to scrutiny. As his eyed roamed over Thomas his stony heart both fluttered and became lead in the same instance. It did not seem right that men like Mr Barrow and himself had to hide their attraction.

"What were you in prison for?" Seb had forgotten that, in his moment of madness, he had told Thomas..._that_. It caught him quite off guard.

"Is that all you want to know?" He stalled. He really didn't want Thomas to know what they did to men like the two of them on prison. He didn't fancy reliving it himself really.

"That and why them upstairs let you work here?"

Seb sighed and sucked in his cheeks, wishing he could smoke, but, at the same time, heading his own previous warning about petrol _and_ knowing they would need the privacy of the garage to tell the story.

"I...fell in love." He looked into Thomas's eyes and saw that he understood, encouraged by this he went on, "he was beautiful, it felt _right_, but of course it went wrong. They caught me, he... got away. He left me there, in there with those... animals." Seb swallowed and carried on, this time answering the second question.

"They don't know, 'cause I'm not stupid enough to tell them. It's not on my character references. Before the war I couldn't even drive, I waited at restaurants, did bar work in between... that place and the war, which gave me good enough references and ... before I was a footman. It didn't seem relevant so I didn't mention it. I went to war, drove an ambulance, now i drive a posh car. It's all that matters to them."

His tone had taken a bitter edge, which Thomas didn't like. It had seemed like Seb had finished, the words too painful force out, but yet another torrent of bitterness spewed out:

"In there they... break you. They stop your will to live. They try and change you. Once they know what your inside for, your a dead man walking. If i weren't such a coward... All those times in the war I held a gun and wished I had the guts to... I ended up hating who I was, just cause I loved"

The last statement was so quiet, it felt far too private for Thomas to have heard. It felt like he was intruding on an intimate moment.

Seb was biting his lip so hard it bled, he knew he was wrong- how he was supposed to be sick and perverted - but he never truly felt that way. To him it was the right way and he simultaneously hated the rest of the world and himself, for just being. Himself for existing and the rest of the world for acting like they were 'right' the whole damn time.

He could feel himself physically shaking and, as the panic sets in, he finds himself feeling it hard to breath. He'd never told anyone before. He knew, as the images of his fellow inmates flashed before his eyes as once again subjected to their torture, that what he was experiencing was some form of shell shock. Though this shell shock wax from from his time in prison and likewise painful excursions, not from the war like many men his age.

A hand lay to rest on his heaving shoulder and another rubbed circles on his back, as a familiar voice told him to keep breathing. Seb focused soley on that voice, trying to keep the dizziness at bay. As his vision returned to him, he saw that Thomas had joined him on the bench, a worried expression etched on his face. A warm feeling in his stomach swirled at the thought that someone _actually_ cared for him, squashing the paranoid voice in the corner of his mind that told him that there was probably a material reason for this kindness. He had been used before, but not now.

As Seb's breathing steadied, he could see Thomas readying himself for retreave both of his hands. Seb didn't want them to go, he liked Thomas's touch. It thrilled him, yet terrified at the same time. Seb felt the warmth drain away from his back and shoulder as Thomas removed his hands, and, although Seb missed them almost immediately, the timing couldn't have been more fortunate, as footsteps were heard advancing nearer the door from across the yard.

Within a blink of an eye, Thomas was back on his side of the table and Seb wiped his eyes to remove any stray tears. Looking up to meet Thomas's gaze, for the minute moment before they were interrupted, Seb saw the faint tinge of a blush staining the under butlers cheek and, perhaps, a hint of hope in the otherwise cold eyes.

As Thomas followed Ivy down to Mr Carson's study, for a briefing on next weeks dinner party with Lady such-and-such, he couldn't help but wonder what would have occurred if that confounded maid _hadn't_ stumbled in.

**Voila!**

**If you don't know how to play cheat, I suggest you look it up as there are many different versions and I just used the one I was taught. Also it generally goes by a different name, but in an attempt to keep this chapter clean I'm not going to name it.**

**Those who review get a virtual hug from Seb!**

**MissGracieKathy**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Sorry about the wait, I'm afraid 2013 got in the way of 1921.**

**Here it is chapter 3!**

**(BTW in my world the chauffeur 'Stark' definitely doesn't exist)**

Today was the day of the fair at Thirsk and, although he had originally been press ganged into driving everyone there, Mr Branson had stepped up to the plate of driving the staff there.

So Seb was looking forward to a day of cleaning the lamps on the car. Fairs did not suit Seb at all, for him they were just too many over charged people jostling around making too much noise. Seb wasn't ashamed to admit he was claustrophobic, a condition which had only been made worse by the trenches.

He straightened his tie and rose from the lunch table as Mr Carson stood up, the Butler, glancing a disproving eye over the fair goers.

As Seb made his way down the corridor a voice caught his attention.

"Mr Summers." It was Jimmy, dressed in ordinary clothes for once, what could he want? Seb turned and made his lips quirk upwards in a questioning manner.

"James? How can I help you?" Jimmy was evidently nervous, his hands wringing agitatedly.

"Spit it out, I haven't got all day you know" Seb stared directly at the footman, hoping to unnerve some response from him.

"You're friends with Mr Barrow". Jimmy bit his lip and, although Seb could see where this was going, humoured the boy for the sake of his own and Thomas's safety.

"Yes, I am," Seb added a faintly bewildered smile to his persona. "Is that a problem?"

Jimmy immediately went on the defensive, obviously unwilling to let an outsider 'know'.

"What? I mean, why would there be a problem? There is a problem".

"I understood that you, and Mr Barrow, had a disagreement of sorts, that is correct?"

"Well, yes." Jimmy was looking at Seb with curiosity, as if trying to figure out how much Seb knew.

"Then what is the cause of your obvious concern, James?" Seb gestured from Jimmy's concerned face to his wringing hands. Jimmy quickly clasped his hands behind his back to stop them wringing.

"Mr Barrow, he's..." Seb bit back an amused smile, wondering exactly how Jimmy would phrase it.

"He's not like normal men. He's not... he's... uh... wrong".

Turning his expression into one of acute curiosity, he clasped his hands behind his back. Seb thought there could be many ways to be _wrong_. To an 'outsider' it would definitely need clearer, more in-depth, clarification. A clarification however, Jimmy, seemed unwilling to give. He seemed to think that a tilt of the head, a meaningful nod and a 'you know' was sufficient.

At Seb's shake of the head, Jimmy sighed and resigned himself to elaborate. He was biting his lip with nerves.

"You don't want to be friends with a man like that, he's one of those...Nancy's" Jimmy looked sufficiently awkward at this revelation and Seb did his utmost best to act surprised, shocked even. He also had to act like he _wasn't_ offended.

"Okay...and why does _that_ concern me?"

"Well...people will think that... you... and him... he's after you". The last statement was a rushed almost whisper- almost conspiratorial.

"Why would _you_ think he would be after _me_?" Jimmy floundered for several minutes.

"I... he... attacked me. You have to understand that Mr Summers".

"So this advice is purely from experience?" Seb unclasped his hands and raised his left eyebrow.

"Yes, Mr Summers".

"And now you think I'm his next 'victim'?"

The word hurt in his throat, the bigots thinking that all men like him were predators.

"Well, yes"

"Because at one point you were friends and he 'went for you'?"

"Well, yes"

"But surely that is in the past? James, I am one of those people that believe it is the present and future that define us. From his recent behaviour I would say he appears to truly regret his actions towards you. I doubt he will 'go for you' again. And in any matters concerning myself and Mr Barrow, I would ask you to respect me enough to take care of myself. Surely he knows what will come to him if he toes the line again. Though of course, I thank you for your concern, especially with your _expert_ knowledge. Now if you'll excuse me".

With a charming smile, Seb extracted himself from the space between Jimmy and the wall, leaving the young footman tongue tied. Yes, Seb could certainly mince his words to achieved any chosen effect: reassurance, wisdom, self-assurance and gratitude, all that concealing the knowledge that he had known about Mr Barrow's preferences in a quicker space of time than anyone in Downton, including Mrs Patmore! The smile slipping from his face as quick as it had appeared, he donned his chauffeurs cap and exited the door to the yard, it was going to be a long day.

The fair goers had returned several hours earlier and Seb was unusually worried for a man who generally left emotions to others. Thomas was hurt. Beaten up defending that _idiot_ Jimmy. He had seen Jimmy enter Thomas's room about an hour after Doctor Clarkson had left, stating that Mr Barrow was 'quite alright Mrs Hughes' and that 'he just needs rest'.

Seb had wanted to visit there and then, but refrained on account of propriety.

There could be two outcomes of Thomas's 'stupidity', Seb had concluded. Either Jimmy would despise Thomas for still harbouring his fancy for the young footman _or_ all would be forgiven and a truce would be met between them. Jimmy seemed the kind of man to give credit where it was due _and_ perhaps Seb's own subtle advice earlier would draw a positive conclusion. Hopefully it wouldn't leave Thomas pining even more for a man he couldn't have.

Balancing the cup of tea in his left hand he raised his right and gave three steady raps on the door in front of him. At the responding command he entered the room, closing the door behind him, and was met with a sorrier sight than ever he saw one. If Seb _ever_ admitted he had a heart, right now it would be breaking. Thomas had never looked so beautiful nor so broken. Unsure of what to say, Seb smiled a genuinely concerned smile.

"You alright?" He said crossing the room, handing Thomas the tea and sitting himself on the wooden chair which he supposed had previously been occupied by Jimmy.

"Thanks, and I suppose I'm alright." It's true Thomas looked unusually happy for a man who'd just had the living daylights beaten out of him. Seb crossed his arms.

"Your talk with Jimmy went ok then?"

"How..? You?!"

Seb nodded at eloquence, eyebrows raised, "I might have had a conversation regarding yourself shortly before the fair, it may have helped him rethink his opinion of you and with your knight in shining armour tendencies you and him should have it sorted."

"A conversation?" Thomas was clearly baffled.

"More like a warning, about your tendencies- I told him to back off and, although I forget my exact words, something to the effect of everyone deserving second chances."

"Thank you. Thanks for that." Thomas's head was bowed over his tea but Seb could hear the slight crack in his voice showing how much Seb's words meant to him.

"He thought you were after me. Of course I acted surprised at the very notion." Thomas blinked into his teacup, brow furrowing.

"I don't know where he got that idea from".

"You and him were friends. Me and you are friends, do the maths, Thomas".

Seb liked the way Thomas's name felt on his lips.

"Right, sorry".

"It's okay, we're sinners together right?" he said lightly, hoping to lighten Thomas's mood- the dark haired man was evidently dwelling on his past grievance with Jimmy. When it appeared to have no effect he leant forward in his seat, uncrossing his arms, so they were barely 7 inches apart.

"Lighten up, you and him are friends now aren't you? Besides, you're not in prison, or alone or being poisoned by O'Brien, you have everything to live for."

Feeling brave, he leant over and squeezed Thomas's tea free hand with his own. He could feel the bullet wound under his skin and was mindful not to pressure it too hard. It was as if electricity was coursing through his skin at that simple gesture, a feeling that only intensified when Thomas set aside his tea and adjusted his hands. Seb's hand was now clasped between both of Thomas's, his thumb unconsciously rubbing circles on the back of Seb's hand. Seb felt his breath catch in his throat, his mouth go dry.

"Thank you, Seb. Thank you" Thomas finally met his eyes and there was honest gratitude shining out of those grey depths. Seb was trying to control the emotions that must be radiating from _his own _eyes - no doubt a mixture of love and lust.

"Mr Summers, are you in there?" It was Mrs Hughes on the other side of the door, why was there always an interruption? He quickly pulled his hand out of Thomas's grasp, for fear she would enter.

"Yes, Mrs Hughes"

"Lady Mary will be returning soon, you'll need to be at the station."

"Yes Mrs Hughes, right away."

He stood up, pulling down his waistcoat. Surveying his friend he smiled.

"Get better soon- you can't leave me talking to those idiots, I'll come up and play cards sometime."

He paused by the chair, about to turn before, against his better judgement, he leant domes and kissed Thomas on the centre of his forehead, his eyes fluttering closed the moment their skin attached. Then he abruptly turned on his heel and exited the room without waiting for a response.

He now knew what Thomas must have felt all those months looking at, touching, Jimmy but without a chance in hell if his feelings being returned. Seb knew that Thomas's heart belonged to Jimmy, whereas Seb was falling hard and fast for the under butler.

Thomas sat there, in his room, cuts adorning his face and body. Bringing his uninjured hand up to his forehead, he touched the place where Seb had kissed him. He too hated interruptions.

**They kissed! Sort of!**

**Hopefully there will be more in the next chapter. **

**R+R!**

**MissGracieKathy**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N I wrote this by hand in a tent on the DofE practice expedition, three days without Internet or warmth I thought I would die! But on the plus side I could get my ideas down quicker, even if they weren't typed. Thank you to my kind reviewers, I'm glad to know someone's reading this!**

**Sorry for the delay, exams and real life once again got in the way!**

**Enjoy**

They didn't talk about what Seb had done. Nor did they mention Thomas's recent heroics except for Seb to ask how he was feeling before they settled down to play cards. The answer was always the same, 'I'm well thank you.'

They didn't talk, not really. It was Seb's own fault he knew it, he had built a makeshift wall around himself when about Thomas. It was flimsier than the one he wore around the staff and at work with upstairs. However it was still there.

His work had been less frequent since the death of Mr Matthew Crawley. None of the family seemed to want to leave the house, only Lady Edith and Mr Branson ever left, for work purposes, and both of them preferred to drive themselves, though Lady Edith was rarely at Downton anyway, as she spent most of her time working in London. The only people Seb drove now were visitors to and from the train station, either people arriving to offer condolences or unwanted officials such as Mr Murray.

This was why Seb found himself sitting at the servants table, one Tuesday afternoon, drinking the cup of tea Daisy had brought him (though he preferred to make his own). He had literally no work to do. He had cleaned the car until it gleamed, checked every part until he was sure it would work for another decade and had even given his uniform twice the needed brushing. He had even washed his oily overalls. He had just finished another letter to his sister, yet again asking for forgiveness- though as usual he didn't expect a reply. Re-reading over it he sighed and decided he would post it tomorrow, in case he changed his mind and decided he didn't need forgiveness from anyone, let alone _her_, like he had done many a time in the last 12years. Sniffing away the lump of emotion in his throat, he rose to wash out his enamel mug, just for something to do.

The kitchen was filled chatter and clanging, two sounds Seb didn't welcome. As another clang of metal on metal resounded in the air, loud enough to be heard from outside in the corridor, he stopped, images of gunshots and prison flashing through his skull. Stumbling he leaned on the wall, shaking his dizzying head to clear it of the unpleasant images. Once he had struggled to control his breathing he stood straight, still pale and sweaty, only to be sent back against the wall by the shout of a frantic hall boy in the kitchen, apparently Ivy had let something over boil.

Yelling rang in his ears and he flinched at the ferocity of the sounds, sounds which he rationally told himself were part of his memories. They still felt very real. He was still standing there, staring at the wall without seeing, when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He flinched expecting an attacker. He didn't even hear his own name being called; only hearing insults. He couldn't breathe, the panic rising in his chest. It was happening again.

"Sebastian!" As he came to, he felt tears running down his face. Shame was bubbling in his chest, usually became part of the mask, and nothing could get through, but lately he'd been on edge, fearing rejection everywhere rebuilding the wall but forgetting to replace it with a façade.

It was of course Mr Barrow. Dressed in his under butlers uniform he cut a dashing but concerned figure before Seb, his uninjured hand still clamped on his shoulder, the other hand holding the enamel mug. He'd either prised it from Sebastian's hands in fear he'd drop it or had picked it up off the floor when it _had_ fallen.

"Come on, let's get you out if here", Thomas place the mug carefully on the floor, and moved the hand on Seb's shoulder to his upper arm to guide him. Seb was still in a semi-panicked daze, shaking from head to toe and unable to utter a word due to his dry throat.

Quickly and quietly Thomas led him up the stairs to Seb's own room, he'd declined his own cottage, and, opening the door, sat him down on the bed. At some point Thomas had also prised Seb's chauffeurs cap out of his other hand as now placing it on the top of the chest of drawers, before turning back to Sebastian, who was staring at the floor, flinching every few seconds.

"Come on Seb, snap out of it!" Thomas hovered, not entirely sure what would be appropriate, Seb had been distant, these past weeks.

It tooke several moments, in the silence that followed, for Sebastian to feel himself again. Or rather his old self, the one without the wall or the mask, scared young Sebastian. Taking several deep breaths, he wiped his eyes and nose on the back of his hand before, on Thomas's disapproving stare, he reached into his bedside draw and brought out a blue plaid handkerchief.

"Sorry", though Seb didn't know if he was apologising for being unhygienic or for the entire episode. Right now he wasn't sure what he was thinking, it felt like several trains were running through his head with their steam and smoke pouring out of his ears, nose and mouth, especially his mouth, it was so dry his voice had had gone hoarse. Upon this Thomas made over to the washstand and, after checking the water was clean, hand Seb a glass of water.

"Drink slowly, everything will be okay" Thomas sat beside him, on the bed, ensuring he _did _drink slowly.

"How can you say that, nothings ever okay," Thomas shushed him so he could drink more water, his voice kept cracking.

"Look what happens to us, we're _wrong_! How is _that _okay? There are people out there who'll _kill_ us Thomas. The only people who care are us, you and me, and we don't have a voice. How _can_ we."

He broke off sniffing, more tears running down his face and nose, his shoulders shaking. Thomas took up the sodden handkerchief and began wiping at Sebastian's face, tears swimming in Thomas's own eyes though Seb couldn't see that as he was so intent on looking at his hands. Seb was picking at his skin with his nails, hoping to direct his emotion elsewhere and turn it into pain. Thomas's hand steadied his own, the other one, the injured one cupping his face with the handkerchief, forcing Seb to look him in the eye.

"Stop that" his voice was gentle, "I can't promise if everything will okay, but we can make it better. You told me I had everything to live for, but so do you!"

Seb sighed with semi-relief and, without thinking; he leant in and presses his wet lips to Thomas's dry ones. It was messy and wonderful; Seb hoped he was conveying the right amount of gratitude through the kiss. He felt Thomas stiffen beneath him and quickly pulled away.

"Sorry, I don't… I mean… Thank you…sorry…what was…sorry" Seb pulled himself completely out of Thomas's grasp, and sat still, on the other side of the bed, his elbow s resting on his knees, his head in his hands.

"It's okay, I understand" It wasn't as Thomas hadn't kissed anyone like that before. At least this time the feelings were mutual, or he hoped Seb felt something for him, something other than thanks. However this wasn't the time to tell Seb this. Right now Seb needed someone to lean on and Thomas vowed he would be that person.

**A/N Yay!**

**I hope this isn't so bad, it was written after an exceedingly uncomfortable night in a freezing tent, when we got up (at 5.50 in the morning)** **there was ice on the tent! Hope it's okay! **

**Again, sorry for the wait,**

**MissGracieKathy**


End file.
